Fall from grace - Revelations
by BodhiJones
Summary: Picking up directly at the end of season 2, so spoilers for all of it! Be warned. What happens next in that room? Exploration of the fallout and the dark days that follow. Hints of depression, angst. Action/drama.
1. Revelations

_A/N: This is my first foray into publishing something on FF, I've had a blast reading through lots of stories on here since recently discovering the site and couldn't resist having a go too after finishing Season 2 on Netflix (wow... just wow). Spoilers for the season so go carefully! Deep breath in... all strapped in folks? let's see how this goes eh?_

* * *

Matt's cane skipped across the side-walk in a wide swaying arc, a constant swing, steady as a metronome tick. In the crook of his elbow he carried a lumpy brown paper bag, clenched protectively tight. The contents were light enough, but the weight of deciding to bring it today had been immense. He'd made the call to Karen two hours earlier, an enigmatic request to meet... _please,_ and she'd reluctantly agreed. So the course was set and he had to see it through.

The occasional tap-scrape of the cane barely registered in his heightened senses against the trip of his own heartbeat. A private drum lurching heavily against his bruised and aching ribs, old ships under siege. All the while his mind constantly turned over the potential outcomes, none of them spectacular.

At least he was feeling _something_ , time had blurred since the funeral, ever since the rooftop battle really. Only yesterday he had stood at the fresh grave, side by side with Stick, head bowed throughout the lonely brief ceremony.

His fingers twisted around the crackling brown paper, tracing the outlines of the contents. Head cocked distractedly to the side as doubt crept unwelcome through his thoughts again.

Faltering to a stop he dragged in a slow lungful of the bitterly cold December air, trying to steady his resolve. Pedestrians dodged around him, sidestepping the curiously battered blind man as he pulled his cane in tight to his body, knuckles white around the handle. Someone placed a hand lightly on his shoulder _"hey pal, need some help?"_ , which he shrugged off with a small shake of the head. A muttered thank you... a firm _no_.

 _"C'mon Matty"_

Huffing out a sigh he lifted his chin a fraction. Like the rumble of his father's voice could just about be made out, a much needed encouraging murmur slicing through the cold air.

He gritted his teeth, swaying slightly as if rooted to the ground, so tempted to just turn around and offer yet another weak excuse for the no-show. But this was inevitable, he reminded himself, Karen was resourceful and smart. She'd piece the clues together eventually. Better this way... better she found out the truth directly from him. Whatever happened he owed her that much.

 _"Cut 'em loose, for their sake". The echo of_ Stick's voice drawled roughly, like a devil crouched on his shoulder, whispering vindictively in his ear. Brutal advice, but he could appreciate the truth in it now.

 _"Break their hearts if you have to"_

He had to, for their sake. So here he was, with one last tie to cut.

With a resigned roll of the shoulder and an agitated flex of fingers around the handle, he tapped the cane back out into its steady tentative arc. Resuming the determined walk, trying to slowly release his tense death-grip on the now crunched down brown bag.

High above the streets of Hell's Kitchen, a few spiralling snowflakes had begun to drift down. Only a light flurry, a hint of the storms predicted to come, but enough to make him hunch into his coat a little. He could trace each random pattern of descent, feel each collision as they landed in his hair, hear the subtle momentary hiss as they melted against his skin. The merciless frigid air brought each bruise and laceration marking his face into sharp focus. Black and blue scattered liberally over pale skin, each wound smarting in the chill breeze, still nowhere near healed.

A sharp waft of pine resin and scraped bark seared suddenly across his senses. A distraction from the relentless memory of holding Elektra in his arms, from the scent of her blood, from how _frail_ her voice sounded at the end.

Just a family unloading and wrestling a fresh Christmas tree across his path ahead.

 _Jesus, it was Christmas already._

He held his breath as he walked through the cloudburst trail of scent that hung vivid in the air. This season could so easily become a sensory overload. There was the inescapable static background buzz of hundreds of electric lights everywhere. Little regimented strings of glowing embers in his world on fire. Wafts of hot mulled alcohol and rich spiced food could swell to choking point, sticking in his throat. The streets packed tight with the impatient jostle of shoppers during the day and in the evening spilling over with rowdy drunks and fighting, noise cascading in on all sides. So many festering arguments brought to light by the season and _so many sirens_...

He'd never felt more disconnected from it all.

Matt grimaced slightly, feeling a tired hollow emptiness rising so easily within himself as he weaved his way slowly between the other pedestrians. Around the corner, across the street, with a familiar click and creak of the front door he was through into the quiet hush of the semi-deserted office block. Three flights up and second door on the left, even without his abilities he could have easily found his way here, having trod the path so often.

But now... now this would be the last time.

Matt paused outside, the briefest of tremors running through his hand as he rested it on the door handle.

He could already feel Karen's heartbeat ahead. Slow and steady. Judging by the halo of heat pooling around the light-bulbs he judged she had been waiting here no more than half an hour already. Probably saying her own final farewells to Nelson & Murdock.

Stepping into the half-light of the office, he folded his cane down with a snap, tossing it aside onto the old chair by the door.

"Thanks for meeting me..." Karen swung around at the resigned note in his voice.

"What am I doing here Matt?" She hung back, lingering by the far window. What other kind of greeting had he really expected? He could sense the subtle shrug of her shoulders, the soft whispering spill of her long hair as it shifted with each movement.

"I uh... have something for you..." His hands pulled at the rustling brown paper bag, holding it forward slightly into the vast gulf of empty space yawning between them.

"No.. _I don't.._." Exasperated she recoiled a step "I don't want to.." Her usually warm voice clipping short, taking on an impatient edge for being summoned here just for a damn Christmas present.

"I _have_ something... that I need you to see" With determined effort he kept his voice and his hand steady as he lifted the horned mask slowly from the bag.

"I'm Daredevil"

There was a long pause, a sharp hitched breath, then he could feel her heartbeat stutter and gallop as she looked bewildered from him, to the mask, then back again.

"I... I wanted you to know..." he pushed on as the silence stretched out "you deserved the truth" His heart was rocketing too "You needed to know in case.. in case anything happened, in case anyone else found out. I uh... say something... please?" He felt an idiot for holding the mask out still.

"How? How is it possible?" Her voice cracked, barely above a broken whisper. He could feel her head twitch accusingly towards the folded cane on the chair beside him.

"When I had the accident, my..." he winced, thoughts spinning sickeningly back to the argument with Foggy. _Are you even really blind?_ "my sight was lost, but my other senses were enhanced. There's so many things I can sense... things I can do"

He took half a step forward "I'm not blind, not like you think.. I.. it's hard to explain"

Karen stalked softly across the room, reaching toward the mask, her heart rate still pounding, hovering her hand close but not quite touching the tough material.

She was transfixed by disbelief and confusion.

Matt tilted his head to one side "I.. I read your article" a low murmur offered with a ghost of a smile.

Her attention seemed to snap back to him after a moment, her gaze taking in the bruises and cuts on his face anew. She reached unthinkingly to brush his hair back from his brow, his head dipping down as if to avoid the touch, unworthy of her tenderness. Hiding behind the glasses he so often wore like a shield.

"But... he saved my life... that was... you?" Her voice was soft, full of wonder as they stood inches apart. "You saved my life... and, that was you... fighting... like _that_? Every time I came to visit, all the _excuses_ , all the times when you couldn't make it in to work?" She leaned in a moment, eyes dancing, studying his expression, voice dropping low "all of your injuries? _There was never any car crash was there_ " She laid it out as a statement of fact, not a question.

Matt could only shake his head.

She spun away, hand lifting to cover her mouth as she staggered slightly to lean against the edge of her old desk. Her breath coming in a gasp as the full realisation hit home, as understanding finally clicked into place. _One big lie hidden by a thousand mediocre small ones._

"Karen..." He moved as if to reach for her, to reassure her, but held himself back "Karen, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry"

"Why..." her voice shook "why do you do it?"

Unseen behind her, Matt grimaced, his voice firm and reasonable, as if he were trying to woo a hostile jury "Every second I'm awake, I'm aware of so much... I can't just... ignore it. I can help, I really can. I can stop terrible things happening, I _have_ stopped them." At this Elektra flashed painfully through his thoughts, that was a lie and the guilt almost took his breath away, he hadn't been able to stop that. _Not that..._ It took him a moment before he could continue. "There's so much happening in the city Karen, things that you... you just wouldn't believe. The cops can't handle it alone"

"Why does it all have to fall on you?"

"You sound just like Foggy.." it was a throwaway comment, but from the way Karen's heart suddenly lurched he knew instantly it was the wrong thing to say.

"Did he know?" She wheeled around, head snapping up to peer at him, a sudden hard edge to her voice "Tell me the _truth_ Matt"

He nodded slowly "he found me in the suit, I hadn't meant for him to find out when he did but-"

" _He found you?_ What does -that- mean?" the accusation in her voice was raw with concern.

"It wasn't his fault, I didn't mean for it-"

"So, all this time" Karen cut across him "he's been what... _covering_ for you?" He could feel the shift of tension in her stance, the sting of confusion and wounded pride in her voice. "You made Foggy lie for you... _to me?_ All this time? Did you laugh about it together?"

"No, Karen.. no, it's wasn't like that. _It was never-_ "

"How long has this been going on for? No.. in fact.. don't tell me"

She pushed herself away from the desk, away from him, pacing around the edge of the room in an agitated arc "I asked you... I was talking about you" She flicked out a hand, gesturing to the mask still in his grip "about him.. you... _about this_ , to your face, and still you never said anything?"

Her voice evaporated, anyone else would have missed her next words "I thought I knew you"

Matt dipped his head, "Karen, I'm so sorry" the weight of his guilt plummeted through him with a sick swoop, at least the truth was out now though. If Fisk or anyone came after those around him, the ones he truly cared about, at least they'd understand the danger. Maybe in time they'd understand the _need_ for the distance and walls he was throwing up to protect them.

He could withstand her confused anger, hell he deserved it. If she needed to rail at him then he wasn't going to stop it. One thing the Murdock boys could always do was take a hit.

Karen paused, deflating slightly "Was everything an act with you?"

It struck him that she meant _them_ , their friendship, their relationship as intense and short lived as it had been. The revelation of all these lies was cutting her deep.

 _Are you even really blind?_

"If we had been together, would you ever have told me?" her tone became fragile with regret. "How long would you have lied to me Matt? Why did you think you couldn't tell me?"

He lifted his chin, "I wasn't planning on telling anyone...but Foggy and Claire just... found out" he shrugged suddenly lost for words.

Karen blinked, "is that her name? the woman who was in your apartment? ...in your bed?"

Elektra... Matt winced tilting his head away, unable to say her name, knowing Karen would misread the expression but unable to stop the defensive reflex. Her heart rate lurched in response, heat rushing through the capillaries in her skin as she flushed red, ears burning, anger igniting once more.

Turning suddenly, she hooked her bag up over her shoulder, striding past him to the door, pausing only to look at him with red rimmed eyes and a hitch in her breath.

As the the door clicked quietly shut behind her, he could track her steps as she hurried down the corridor, fast, on the verge of running. Already punching at the buttons on her phone, there was only one person she'd be calling right now.

He flicked the lights off in the office one by one, before sinking onto Karen's old chair, his features scrunching up with a twist of raw emotion that he subdued with a slow exhale.

 _"Cut 'em loose, for their sake"._

That was it then, Nelson and Murdock were truly finished.

 _"C'mon Matty"_

Eventually he lifted his head slowly from the cradle of his hands, dragging his fingers roughly across his face, wiping briefly at his eyes.

 _"Get to work"_

* * *

 _A/N: If you'd like to know what happens next, please let me know. I hope you enjoyed it so far! :)_


	2. All this time

_Thank you for all the feedback so far. I guess it must be a bit like being a stage comedian, hearing the laughter out there in the darkness of the club. It's hugely encouraging to hear a response, especially as this is my first venture into writing on this site. I have honestly grinned like an idiot, thankful for each kind comment and thoughtful review left so far._

 _Why did no-one warn me these kind of stories just grow? I've got nearly 20 chapters sketched out with even a stab at some plot, so bear with me as I crack on with it, I'm having a blast writing it up ;)_

 _It should be pretty clear, I own none of the characters and again there are spoilers aplenty as this is set straight after the end of Season 2. Going to throw in a warning for swearing now too, as I've tried to keep the tone in keeping with the language used on the show._

 _Anyway, enough from me, popcorn to hand? Alright, let's get back to the action shall we?_

* * *

"Foggy.. pick up.. _pickup-pickup-pickup_ "

A loud familiar voice suddenly bounded through the earpiece _"Hey, you've reached Foggy Nelson, you know what to do after the beep!"_

Karen's breath exploded with frustration.

"Dammit, Foggy it's me... I've just... I've just spoken to Matt." Karen brushed her hair aside as she moved the phone around, adrenaline still coursing through her, enough to make her hands tremble. "He told me everything. _Everything..._ I... _I know_. I know what he's been doing. Who he really is. Call me, soon as you get this... we need to talk. Call me"

She barely registered where her steps led, striding fast on autopilot from the office still in a daze. It wasn't until she found herself under the red neon glow of Josie's sign that she slowed to a stop in realisation. Her lips pressing into a thin line as she peered into the dim interior, but on this cold night the windows were thickly misted with trails of condensation, too clouded to see far inside.

Pushing her way through to the bar, scanning around wildly all the way, she called out hopefully "hey, you seen Foggy here lately?" Josie waved her over, eyeing her up and down, alarmed by the unusual tone of desperation. She'd always felt a little protective of the younger woman and something seemed horribly off. "Everything alright hon?" Karen just shook her head, wincing as she wrestled her emotions under some kind of control. She clearly wasn't, red rimmed eyes betraying her even in this grim light.

"I'm fine... really.. I just need to talk to Foggy" she sighed, glancing around as if he still might be hiding somewhere.

Josie leant back, drumming her fingers slowly on the counter, clearly ready to give those lawyer boys a piece of her mind if they'd been up to anything they shouldn't. "You _sure_ you're okay?" She arched a brow, beckoning her over to an empty barstool.

Karen relented, shakily slumping down and resting her elbows on the bar as a tumbler of scotch was pushed calmly in her direction.

Grimacing she knocked back a hasty swig, the bitter taste coursing through her like an invigorating lick of fire, unsure of what to say, where to even start. "I've just... had a really shitty day, you know?" She flashed a faint smile, sniffing a little, slender fingers fidgeting around the edge of the glass. "Just one thing after another for a while now. I just... I just really needed to speak to him". Her voice trailed away as she lifted the scotch to gulp back another mouthful.

First everything with Frank, all the death and mayhem she had witnessed in his wake, all the very real threats to her life... Blood, shattered glass and visceral heart-stopping fear. And now one of the few reliable foundation pillars of her world had just shifted and crumbled a little with those two words. "I'm Daredevil."

Josie discreetly topped up her glass, waving away any hint of payment. This season could always be particularly rough for some, driving them to seek solace in solitude or the bottom of a bottle, she could understand that alright. "You take all the time you need hon... though, I've not seen him here since you all finally settled your tab?" She shot Karen a concerned look, usually the younger woman was so collected and confident, never any trouble at all as patrons went and therefore one she wanted to keep around.

"Good to see you haven't abandoned this place anyway" she offered Karen a rare encouraging smile. Turning away only when flagged down by another customer, slipping easily back into her usual tough demeanour with a growl of "yeah, whaddya want?"

Karen turned the glass around between her hands, watching the strings of Christmas lights refract and slide across the surface with each tilt. Her thoughts tumbling all over the place, scattering as randomly as the reflections. The bar became a distant blur around her as the scotch seemed to slowly magically empty of its own accord. _Matt's the devil of hells kitchen. He's Daredevil._ She'd had suspicions that something was up with him for some time now sure, _but this?_

 _Never this..._

Swearing softly under her breath she closed her eyes, resting her head in her hands a moment, feeling an idiot for not seeing it, for not questioning harder. With a sigh she shot an accusing sidelong glance over to the pool table. Remembering Matt's easy laughter last time they had played a round. Remembering the electric, breath-taking journey home that followed. The tentative link of fingers as they walked hand in hand through the pouring rain...

With a shake of the head she recalled the softness of his kiss.

And all that time... It was just a whole string of lies, just shadows and smoke.

She practically leapt on her phone when it then finally rang. "Foggy?" She snatched it up, pressing it hard against her ear.

"Yeah... jesus, sorry, I was stuck in a meeting. Where are you Karen, are you okay?" His voice raced with genuine urgency and concern, he sounded far more flustered than she now felt.

"I'm at Josie's... I..."

"I can be there in fifteen, you okay to stay there?"

She peered at the door, as if Matt might suddenly walk into the bar.. hell, he potentially might? She quelled the lurch of panic, dismissing it as probably unlikely. She flicked a look to the dark windows, to the frosty night outside, would Matt be busy out there _working_ already?

Huffing a breath she muttered " _No_ , it's okay, I'll be here"

She lifted her hand, ordering two beers. _"He on his way over then hon?" "Yeah Josie, thanks... I uh, I appreciate it"_ they shared a small fleeting smile, a nod, before Karen scouted out a table at the back of the bar, needing somewhere more private.

When Foggy finally arrived he looked smart, curiously out of place now in the rough bar. Sharp grey suit, long hair pushed back, slick and fresh from the new office. His open, worried expression was exactly the same as it always had been though. He took one look at her and without thinking, without any hesitation or guile, reached out to meet her with a tight hug which she sank into automatically, pressing her face into his shoulder, drawing a steadying breath.

"Woah... hey... you okay?" His words were soft, thick with concern "I'm sorry Karen... I'm _so_ sorry."

She choked back a bitter laugh before pulling away "You sound just like Matt."

He held her at arms length, a broad hand on each shoulder, expression deadly serious. "I should have told you, I should have made Matt tell you a long time ago. It _sucked_ not telling you, but I couldn't. Jesus... _What the hell happened?_ "

The sting of her wounded pride dissipated a little when faced with the force of his genuine worry, his honest apology. Deep down a faint hiss of guilt whispered, tempering the fire of her anger and confusion, a reminder that she harboured her own fair share of secrets. A voice that she buried deep, unwilling to reason it out right now...

Sitting back down she peered across the table to him. "He called me over earlier, asked to meet.. back at the office? I didn't know what for..." she half shrugged, her voice calm and quiet "I wasn't sure I even wanted to go"

With a swig of beer she leant back, brow furrowed "He... said he had something to show me... something that I needed to see, then he just pulled out the mask and said who he really was"

Foggy shook his head slowly "Just like _that_ huh?"

Karen peered at him, tilting her head to the side _"Is it really true?"_

He nodded once and both of them drank in silence for a moment.

Foggy eventually rested his bottle on the table, leaning forward. "You're pissed, I get it, you've got every right to be. I know I sure as hell was when I found out."

Karen arched a brow, leaning forward too "how _did_ you find out?"

"The worst way... I found him half dead in his apartment. Bleeding out in that black mask." he ran a hand through his hair, it sounded ridiculous when said aloud in company, but then how often had he really had the opportunity to talk about it with someone else? "He'd been in a fight with a real actual ninja... got his ass royally kicked... he nearly died that night"

"So... that was the _'car crash'_ huh?" Karen peered at him shrewdly.

Foggy looked stricken, frowning at the flood of memories, muttering a low "yeah."

"And that was around the time you both fell out?"

"Yep, that about did it." Foggy's voice bounced back, sounding brisk, but the frown remained. "Thing is, I'm the closest thing to family he has and even I didn't know half of whatever the hell he got up to, even now I still don't."

"and all that time.. neither of you could tell me?"

Foggy had to wince at the broken resigned note to her voice, he could hardly bear to meet her eye, hearing her speak the accusation so softly. "I really _-am-_ sorry Karen... I didn't know what else to do. One lie kinda just bred and led into the next. His sincere voice faltered "If it hadn't been for Claire that night, he -would- have died right there on the floor..."

Karen snapped her head up" ...and Claire is?"

Foggy paused, eyeing her from across the table as he leant back "You met her. Remember the nurse who helped us with Mrs Cardenas at the hospital? The night Hell's Kitchen up and exploded around all us? That was her. Claire pulled him out of a dumpster and stitched him back together. Guess she found out by accident... just like me."

Karen nodded, remembering that night vividly, her voice lifting in surprise "that was her?" a shadow of confusion knotted her brow, "then.. who the hell was that I saw in his bed the other day?"

He shrugged, splaying his hands wide "Like I say, I seem to know _shit_ about his life lately"

Karen leant her chin in her hand, thoughtful and distracted as Foggy bought another round of beers.

"Thing I don't get.. is how does he actually do it?" she squinted up at him when he eventually returned from the press of bodies around the bar" How does someone just learn to flip around like that?"

Foggy took a sip, unsure whether to name Stick directly or not "Way I heard it" he shrugged "he was picked out, trained as a kid, guess it all carried on from there."

"Who the hell recruits blind orphans?"

"I know right? it sounds ridiculous, but you've seen what he can do... if he concentrates his... abilities" Foggy waved his hand around vaguely "He really can kick ass."

"But.. this is all insane.. borderline psychotic!"

 _"I know!"_ Foggy shook his head exasperated.

"But he's just one guy, he's just _Matt!_ " Karen's tone was almost pleading "How do you cope with knowing all this?"

"I don't" Foggy shrugged with resignation, frowning "I rely on copious amounts of denial and panic. With a delicious side order of ill advised trauma first aid googling..."

The way his frown lingered though, told of genuine worries and the toll of sleepless nights. Eventually he looked away, his voice a hesitant murmur "I miss him..."

"Have you spoken to him lately?"

" _No..._ he said we were better off without him. He seemed to really mean it..." Foggy seemed to deflate, his voice suddenly cracking with regret and anger. "We were gonna be the best damn avocados in the city, ever since Columbia, we were close. I thought we were like brothers... you know?"

Karen winced, getting a glimpse of the monumental kick to the gut Matt's revelation must have been for him, and the discovery made in such an intensely brutal and bloody way too. _Finding him half dead... she couldn't help but wonder how she would have coped with that scene._ Just how impossible had the situation been in the months that followed? Keeping it quiet, knowing every single time when Matt left the office that he might be putting on the mask, that he might potentially get himself killed, and to carry that worry, that burden alone.

"Jesus" Karen murmured softly, reaching a hand across the table, laying it gently on his forearm. "Foggy... It's not your fault... none of this.. none of this was your fault, okay?" She couldn't help but feel a burst of anger deep down for everything Matt had put him through. What he was putting them _both_ through now...

Foggy brushed a hand over his eyes before taking a large gulp of beer. Blowing out a slow breath to steady himself. He hadn't intended to add his worries to hers tonight and mentally he kicked himself. Eventually he squinted across the table to her "I think.. I think you're the first person he's actually _chosen_ to tell? Maybe that means something?" he tilted his bottle pointedly in her direction, mid-way to his mouth "worth thinking about huh?"

Karen grimaced, unsure of what to make of it, her eyes turning down to stare at the bottle, lost in thought. Unsure if she was ready to forgive such a parade of lies, what to make of it all.

"You know..." Foggy leaned across the table to interrupt her thoughts spiralling downward, looking deadly serious "I bet Alfred fucking _hates_ Batman sometimes."

Karen screwed her face up in confusion, smiling at him lopsidedly _"...what?"_

He leant back and gestured expansively "Well... you'd think being a sidekick would be awesome, knowing someone who can do mind blowing shit. But being the one who cares about them, who patches them up, who waits up for them whilst they're out saving the day? it just fricken sucks. It's not like it is in the movies, it's stressful and shitty and you wonder if next time..." he tightened his hand around the bottle, Face falling back into a frown again "if next time will be the time you finally find them dead."

Karen squeezed his arm, knowing his breezy tone covered a genuine dread. "So..." she smiled softly "are you calling yourself the _butler_ in this situation?"

 _"Hey.. whaaat? I could buttle like a beast!"_ He bristled with mock pride and they both shared a smile, grateful for the new depth of support from the other.

Foggy tilted his beer slightly towards the bar "hey... You remember what I said in here that time? I meant it... You're not alone Karen"

She nodded slowly in return "well, nor are you... _now_ "

There was a _clink_ of beer bottles as they quietly toasted the idea.

"Hey, he's a tough bastard... he'll be okay" Foggy dipped his head, peering at Karen intently.

"You _sure_ about that?" she looked hesitantly back over to him, needing it to be true.

"I have to be... only way I can cope with all this"

Karen downed the last of her beer " _Jesus..._ so what do we do now?"

"I have _no_ idea, there's no guidebook for this. No sidekick 101, and trust me I've looked"

"Do we at least get tee-shirts?" she arched a brow slowly, tilting her head to one side.

Foggy smirked, finishing his own beer with a smile of appreciation. "Nope.. but we damn well _should_."

 _Maybe the next move, if there could be any, would have to be up to Matt._

* * *

 _Next chapter: Meanwhile with Matt..._

 _(Do please let me know what you think of it so far and if you'd like to read more)_


	3. A deep breath

The apartment echoed with each slow footstep, as soon as the front door clicked shut he felt an intense desire to turn around and head straight back out again. To be anywhere, just not here. It was too empty, too ghosted by memories. Pulling the mask free from the paper bag he hefted it around, dipping his head thoughtfully as he traced a thumb along the edge of a curved horn.

It was _never really_ empty here though, sound crowded in, hounding him always. Right now it just dragged at his patience, adding to his agitation, to the encroaching miserable sense of solitude.

With a sudden rough snarl of frustration he hurled the mask far across the room.

Sighing he ran a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose before shrugging off his coat, hanging it with the rest. _"Well..."_ he growled softly, pulling himself together with a shake of the head _"...that could have gone worse."_

Trailing his hand lightly along the wall he paused, feeling the sharp edge of a dent. His fingertips gently explored the clean deep groove cut into the plaster, left by the strike of a straight sword.

 _Couldn't stop that either could you?_

A chemical scent still hung subtly in the apartment, like a whispered accusation, far too delicate for anyone else to notice. The tart sting of industrial cleaner, from where the boys blood had been obliterated from the carpet. It would probably linger in the air for weeks yet, just on the edge of his perception. Leaning his hand flat over the long mark he flinched slightly, a tilt of the head away in recognition.

 _He was just a boy... Just feet away from you, and still he died in a needless rush of spilled blood._

If he tried to explain it, who would believe him? _The Hand... The War... The Chaste..._ It sounded ridiculous, too far fetched to ever be true... but Elektra was dead. Buried. It was real.

 _A whole world lost..._

Pushing himself away from the wall distractedly he wandered past the sofa, over to the high industrial window. The ice frosted panels caught the light, glowing like liquid stained glass around him. A kaleidoscope of lurid colours sliding across the surface from the imposingly bright billboard right outside.

He replayed the distress he had just inflicted upon Karen, the raised heartbeat, the tremor in her voice, the eventual anger and accusation directed back at him. _What had he expected?_

With a muttered curse he rested his forearms against the glass, banging his head once against the cold surface. Following each minuscule sound, each shake and rattle that ricocheted up through the old metal frame in response.

 _"Idiot"..._

What else could he have done though?... Keep spinning the same old lies? He valued her friendship, she had earned the trust. The parting shot between them needed to be one of truth. Their legal practice had fractured and fallen apart, suffering too long from _him_ being unreliable, always tearing himself in two, trying to balance the devil and the lawyer. But that had proved impossible. Something had to give, and so it had... He'd stretched their patience to snapping point and eventually, inevitably, Foggy and Karen had moved on.

If things turned as he _feared_ they might, then this new distance would protect them and distract unwanted attention away.

It _needed_ to be this way, no matter how much the guilt and regret would claw at him.

 _"When I finally get out of this cage I will dismantle the lives of the two amateurs that put me in here! You, Mr. Murdock, and Franklin Percy Nelson."_

Matt shivered.

Fisk loomed inexorably like a sulphurous demon in his thoughts, a heavy foreboding figure that all his worst fears gravitated around. Matt huffed a breath, misting the glass, _too late... Nelson and Murdock are already wrecked_. He'd made sure of it. Let the attention all fall on him, he would take it. He'd paint a clear target on his _own_ back before he'd let Fisk focus fire on anyone else that he cared about.

 _"The two of you took the laurels. You'll both take the blame."_

He grimaced, brow still pressed against the chill glass. The fury of Fisk, the certainty of his hate whispered like a cold breath up his spine. An omen, a dark seed of worry. No, he'd do whatever he had to, to make sure that would never come to pass.

Could he _kill_ a man like that though?

 _If it came to that..._

 _If..._

 _...would he damn his own soul to put Fisk down for good?_

Resting his knuckles against the glass he pushed himself away from the window, turning aside to pace tormented across the room. The disdainful growl of Frank taunted him _"You know what I think of you hero? I think you're a half measure..."_

He'd come this close... _this close..._ to crossing the line, but the warning had been clear. Do that, and you'll not come back from it, not the same person at least. The way Frank had said it, he was talking from hard experience. As if he wanted to protect _something_ he saw within Matt.

Leaning against the bare brick wall he slid slowly downwards, his legs buckling beneath him until he sat cross legged. Head dipping to his chest, resting his palms upwards over his knees. Calming his breath in the dark apartment, he stilled, forcing the turmoil of his doubts to quiet... turning his attention inwards.

He needed to steady his heartbeat... to focus...

 _They were sitting side by side at the bar in Josie's, Foggy laughing loud, grinning as he pressed a hand drawn napkin excitedly into his hand._

His head twitched to one side, brow furrowing. He tried to concentrate on the inrush of cold air through his lungs. Listening to each breath... _trying_ to focus...

 _Karen leaned close, her hair falling in a soft slide as she smiled, trailing her fingertips over his to set the pool cue straight. Setting up the next shot for him, her hand lingering a moment too long, a soft lyrical chuckle caressing his ear, the warmth of her skin radiating over his senses._

Matt grimaced, head tilting away. He listened to the cascade of warm air pushing outwards with his slow exhale... _needing_ to focus...

 _He was trying to trip Foggy up with his cane as they walked home late at night to their dorm at Columbia. Linking arms, hanging off each other and giggling drunkenly. "Best damn avocados man..." The way Foggy said it, was so certain, so full of hope._

Matt tipped his head back, exasperated... face angled to the ceiling to release a low growl of frustration, knowing he was too distracted for this.

Rising slowly, he stalked purposefully across the apartment, over to the locked cabinet at the far end. Pulling the heavy high doors aside he stood motionless, regarding the battered old chest.

Kneeling reverently he flipped the lid open, brushing his fingertips over the few inherited possessions he had ever owned. The precious items he had clung to through his years at the orphanage, a single insert tray full of mementos of his father. Prized above everything was the boxing cloak.

 _"Battlin' Jack Murdock"_

Rocking back on his heels he traced the outline of the stitched lettering, feeling the silk fabric slide smoothly under his touch. His father hadn't wanted him to fight. He'd done everything in his power to get his son an education, to spare him from the beatings he'd withstood to make a living.

Matt turned his face aside, wondering what his father would have said to him now...

With a roll of the shoulder and a clench of teeth he yanked the insert tray out, placing it on the floor, reaching down to the Daredevil armour hidden within.

Shrugging the suit on he leant across to where the mask had landed earlier. Brushing it over, his hand once more traced the outlines of the horns. _A necessary evil, a symbol, a purpose..._

 _A focus..._

Launching himself up the stairs to the roof access he could already feel the doubt and guilt dropping away. Clearly he just needed to keep occupied, _stay busy..._

Flecks of snow drifted down lightly, spiralling through the air as he stood on the precipice of the ledge. Tilting his head around he allowed the sounds of the city in. His focus darting from one to the next, searching for a target.

Hearing a scream echo up from the streets below he turned sharply, taking a running approach to the edge of the roof...

A _grin_ ghosted his features as he leapt...

* * *

 _Thanks for the feedback so far, it's really encouraging to hear what you think ;)_


	4. The pact

Thanks for all the encouragement to continue, you guys are _(as Foggy would say) A_ wesome! :D  
 _  
Thyncth: I'm still finding my way around with chapter lengths, hopefully there'll be some longer ones ahead to make up for the shorter ones :D  
Trifectum: I honestly hadn't even noticed I was doing that. Well spotted, I'll try and keep a watch out on my grammar slips, they're pretty inevitable though ;)_

 _Onwards we go... Still working on that popcorn? Lovely! Small warning for violence to stack next to the previous warning for language. Things will inevitably turn a little grim from here onwards..._

* * *

"Nature abhors a vacuum, did you know that?"

The street was dark and quiet at this time of night. It was a struggling area of Hell's Kitchen, one that had been discreetly spiralling into decline over the last few years. Lined with bare trees, spindly branches stripped by winter, it looked even more bleak than usual. Just another long grey street hemmed in by a shambling array of grey high storey buildings. It skirted along the edge of the industrial district, sloping down towards the docks, any heyday of prosperity here had faded decades ago. The light snowfall did nothing to hide the occasional boarded up shop-front or the broken glass in the gutter.

Joseph Rafelli nodded idly, only half listening to his brother, his main attention was focused on the oncoming headlights. On scrutinising each of the few cars that drifted by. They were parked in a reasonably public spot, but if things really went south then the number of witnesses here could be relied upon, or forcibly _made_ , to be zero. The few traders that still clung to the street were tough, survivors, learning to look the other way, to keep to themselves. Wasn't a shopkeeper on the block who didn't keep a bat or a gun to hand somewhere under the counter.

You _got by_ here or you _got out_.

With one broad hand resting on the steering wheel, he kept his eyes focused forward. He was a wary, cautious man, as dark haired and olive skinned as his brother, but there the similarities ended. Of the two he had grown to be the quiet voice of authority, even though he was only two years the elder. He certainly wasn't stupid, he understood the risks they were taking being here tonight. But once in a while, he _knew_ a calculated gamble was worth it for the potential gains that could be made. Especially given the opportunity that was presenting itself right now in Hell's Kitchen.

His brother kept up a low muttered running commentary. "Chop a tree down in the rainforest and there's a mad scramble of plants looking to fill that gap in the canopy. All reaching toward the new scrap of light. Soon enough one of them newcomers reaches above the rest, claiming all that sunlight, growing tall at the expense of the others who just wither back down to nothin'... Natural law ain't it?"

A car ghosted past, not slowing at all, but Joseph still watched it in silence all the way.

 _"Ain't it?"_ he felt a tap on his arm, his brother looking for at least a _grunt_ of agreement in response.

Joseph flicked a look across to Anton, the younger man had a twitchy nervousness about him, which suited his wiry frame and thin face. One of life's worriers, a pacing, fretting, live-wire of energy. The polar opposite in most ways to himself. He didn't mind the constant chatter because when it came right down to it, Anton could be trusted, and such _absolute_ loyalty was invaluable.

Anton sighed, an agitated huff of breath. Smoothing his wild curly hair backwards, he stretched out with a suppressed yawn, nodding impatiently over to where Joseph was maintaining his steady gaze.

"You _sure_ they're coming?" he muttered, each word laced with disdain. The question had no real answer, but the tense wait was beginning to fray his nerves.

Joseph nodded once again, more firmly this time. "You know" he rumbled "you can always leave? I can handle this." The words were spoken slowly, with complete conviction, as if each had been weighed and considered before passing his lips. Which, in all likelihood they had.

Anton snorted softly, as _if_ he'd leave his older brother alone to handle this deal. As imposing and resourceful as his brother was, there was _no way_ he'd leave him tonight, not without direct back up. This _deal_ was the chink of light in the proverbial canopy, the chance for their enterprise to steal a share of the sun and grow. Hell's Kitchen was a maelstrom at the moment, no one gang holding power over the rest and the Rafelli's needed to grab this opportunity with both fists.

Joseph watched him a moment, as if he knew _exactly_ what was going through his little brothers head, then smirked silently before turning back to his patient study of the street.

"I'd what... sit in the car like some _idiot_ whilst you go make the deal? Or maybe you think I wanna walk? _Jesus..._ I'd freeze my ass off out there". Anton puffed out a breath, checking the condition of his gun for the fifth time, resigned to the wait. _"Russians..."_ he spat the word out "what've we got in common with them anyway?"

Joseph clenched his hand around the steering wheel, expression suddenly serious, studying the dark 4x4 with tinted windows that had pulled up at the other end of the street. He threw his brother a pointed sidelong look. "We got at least _one_ thing in common... come on... it's them. Alert the others and leave that _gun_ here."

Anton grimaced but obeyed, immediately tucking his gun into the glovebox. Scrambling for his phone, he tapped out a single word.

 _Showtime..._

* * *

Yaroslav switched off the ignition, nodding ahead slowly. "Sir? it's them" he glanced to the rear view mirror. There were four men in the large 4x4. Two in the front and two in the back, but he was looking for orders only from the slender man with greying hair sat right behind him.

Lev Gribkov looked up, tilting his head to one side, regarding the grey BMW parked ahead, even now he felt a thrill of apprehension. With a curt nod he motioned for his lieutenant to signal the others out of the car. _Empires were not made by hesitating and doubting, they were seized by ambition and action._ "Well then" he murmured, "let's see what these _imitation mobsters_ have to say."

* * *

Joseph and Anton strode down the street shoulder to shoulder. A carefully contrived stride that spoke of casual confidence and purpose. True they had a handful of men scattered around the street looking on, but if there was an emergency then the actual ability of their men to intervene would be severely limited. They could only hope it wouldn't come to that.

On approaching the 4x4 they were discreetly checked for weapons. Patted down front and back as a precaution by the two guards stationed outside the car. The guards were armed, politely efficient and silent. Only leaning to speak to the driver of the car once they were fully satisfied. A single nod, a hushed conversation in rapid-fired Russian, then the rear door of the car opened out for them like an invitation. They were waved through to sit on two flip down seats, facing a middle-aged man who was peering back at them with a wary curiosity.

They were sat ever so slightly lower, the heavy doors locked around them as soon as they had climbed inside. All subtle little statements, reminders of who was _really_ in charge of this discreet meeting.

"Sit... Sit..." Lev gestured idly over as they settled, exuding an air of calm, as if they were all old friends just meeting for a coffee. "I am hearing interesting things about you both" he smiled, pausing, the implication clear that investigations had been made about them both and found most favourable.

Anton, for once, kept his mouth firmly shut, looking to Joseph to lead the deal. His brother had insisted upon it, made it _very clear_ he would be displeased if his brother screwed things up by running his mouth off. So Joseph was the one to lean forward, dipping his head in wary but polite acknowledgement, taking control of their side of the talk.

"Thank you, I guess we should welcome you the Kitchen huh? I understand your venture is... new?"

"As is yours." Lev smiled, his tone smooth and businesslike. "The Bratva are keen to reinstate a presence here, given our recent losses it is... _prudent_ yes? So maybe, we are not so _new_ , just the changing face of an old institution." Lev gestured lightly to the brothers "you can understand my curiosity at your... _evident_ desire to talk?"

Joseph nodded slowly. It had taken weeks to arrange, to chase down the contacts, to set up the meeting point. But it would all be worth it if the deal worked out. "I have been thinking we could do some business together, a deal that would be mutually beneficial?" He linked his hands together, watching the other man closely for a reaction. Lev merely arched a pale brow in response, motioning for him to proceed.

"Simply put, we have the same thorn in our sides, maybe we might be able come to some agreement on how it could be handled? An agreement which... if seen through successfully, might encourage a continued and prosperous relationship between our" he waved a hand between them, "...respective ventures."

He kept his gaze steady, leaning forward slightly to emphasise his point. "I am thinking maybe we're all growing a little _tired_ of freaks in suits taking the law into their own hands huh? If we were to...eliminate this distraction together, I'd see it as a good foundation stone to build a future working relationship on... don't you?"

Lev nodded thoughtfully, "so why do you not just handle this directly, why are you coming to me today?"

Joseph tilted his head to one side, "way I see it" he spread his hands, "we have the manpower but not the _hardware_ " he looked over with a respectful nod, "and maybe you have the resources but not the _manpower_ , not yet anyway if I understand things right. Between us maybe we can clear the field a little?"

"But why are you coming to us and not... say... the Yakuza?" Lev shrugged lightly. "No doubt they would consider such a deal to be of great interest too?"

"Perhaps, but you hear stories in the Kitchen, especially lately." Joseph shrugged casually, clearly not wishing to voice his reasons further than that.

Lev allowed a small smile, "You think we will just give you access to our weapons and resources because you ask so politely?"

Joseph shook his head slowly, "No... nothing like that. All I am asking for is a little cooperation. Perhaps a sharing of information, of sightings, perhaps some of your men can work alongside ours here and there until we have the _devil_ good and dead."

Lev settled back on the leather seat, regarding the brothers for a long drawn out moment. "I think... maybe... your proposal has merit." He nodded curtly, extending a hand over to Joseph to seal the deal.

* * *

Anton grinned to his brother as they climbed back into their own car. "Open season now on those freaks huh? You got some plan on how we do this?"

They pulled smoothly away from the kerb, heading back towards the eastern district of Hell's Kitchen. Street-lights flickered past, lighting up the inside of the car in muted orange flashes. Joseph nodded distractedly as he drove. "Word is..." he stared ahead calmly, "you scream _loud_ enough, someone will hear you in Hell's Kitchen. So... _we make 'em scream_... see who comes running eh?"

"Once it's done, you think the Russians'll hold to this truce?" Anton leant forward to pull his gun from the glove box, slipping it back into his shoulder holster, feeling comforted by the familiar weight.

"We'll find out... their numbers are weak after the Ranskahovs got blown to shit, they got their _own_ share of rebuilding to do I reckon. So now might be a good time to be seen to be.. helpful. It would be _remembered._ Whatever... they've got supply chains and contacts that we just don't have." He shrugged thoughtfully, "not yet anyway. So we keep them sweet, use them as a step up into the big leagues. "

Anton huffed a breath, about to agree when his phoned buzzed. Flipping it open he listened a moment before looking over sharply. He placed a hand over the phone as his brother drove, relaying the information. _"He's been sighted, thirty-seventh and ninth."_ Slamming a sharp right, the car accelerated hard in that direction.

With one hand slapped down onto the dashboard for balance, Anton snarled, _"we're on our way."_

When they arrived at the mouth of the alleyway, one of their men was already down, knocked out cold. A dark dressed man was cornered at the far end, swinging some kind of weapon around holding two others at bay. But only barely, even from here it looked like the guy had taken a mighty beating. His chest heaving and his feet unsteady. Their headlights distracted the vigilante long enough for a lucky punch to knock him to the floor.

 _"Hey... look at this?"_ Anton circled the prone man like a hyena. Kicking at the baseball bat that had dropped from his grip. "Since when did the _devil_ wear fucking sports gear?"

The sports armour had been sprayed deep red, a pair of cheap Halloween horns stuck to a baseball helmet to complete the look. _Crude... home-made... A wannabe hero who had tried to foil a robbery and damn near succeeded._

Anton kicked the man in the ribs hard, "we ought to pin a note on him, send a message to the _others_ huh?"

Joseph peered at his brother, expression twisting into a rare menacing smile. "You want to leave a message?" He reached over lazily, pulling Anton's gun from the holster, pointing it down toward the prone man.

 _"No, please... n-no."_ The man feebly raised an arm, the words nothing more than a croak, blood bubbling at edge of his mouth.

The gun fired twice, blood pooling around him slowly across the snow speckled sidewalk, two shots direct to the heart.

He calmly handed the gun back, before waving his men to clear out.

" _There's_ your _message_..."


	5. Amen

_"Cash!..."_

The twitchy gunman swept his arm around in a broad arc, _"Now... all of it."_ He gestured frantically to the boy behind the counter who cringed back from the loaded weapon.

The cashier fumbled at the till, slapping it open, scrambling to pull the battered notes free. He pushed them across the counter nervously in a crumpled bundle, unable to take his eyes from the tremor running through the junkies arm. _Jesus.. I'm gonna die alone in this lousy dime store._ His world condensed entirely down to the single dirty finger resting over the trigger, knuckle flexing with excitement, jittery with adrenaline or maybe the latest fix.

It was only a small corner shop, a few rows of high shelves stacked with basic necessities, a bin full of ignored ice-creams, a wall dedicated to magazines and maps. Behind the till a rack of liquor bottles glinted on display, well dusted and neat, locked securely away.

Crouching, the boy swore under his breath, _"alright man, calm down... please... take what you want!"_ He kept his hands held high as he screwed his eyes shut, breath stalling in his chest, waiting for the deafening moment the gun would fire. _It would be any moment... oh god, oh god..._

A chime over the door sounded, a tinkling jolly bell at odds with the tense scene. The junkie wrenched around toward the noise, pointing the gun around wildly...

Too terrified to look, the cashier heard a thud, a sickening crunching sound and a pained exhale. The counter shook as something slammed hard onto the surface, followed by the skittering hiss of a weapon sliding away in pieces across the floor.

His heart almost lurched to a stop when a low reassuring voice murmured _"Call 911."_

Opening his eyes slowly he just caught the profile of a darkly dressed man striding from the shop, snug mask covering half his face, a pair of slightly curved horns at his brow.

The money was still crumpled on the counter, the junkie knocked out cold on the ground. Gasping for air, the cashier slumped backwards, leaning against the clinking liquor cabinet, drawing a gasp of utter relief.

* * *

Matt pulled himself up easily onto the flat roof, pausing as he concentrated, head tilted to focus his senses.

The young cashier would be okay, already he could hear him speaking over the phone to the cops. There was a growing tremor in his voice, emotion already chasing hard on the heels of the stress that had just flooded through his body. His heart still drummed wildly in his chest, his hands were shaking, but he would _be alright_...

He nodded to himself a little, satisfied, shifting his attention back to the sounds rising up from the world below. Mingled in with the multitude, almost lost amongst the arguments and conversations, faint beside the rumble and static of traffic and televisions, something beautiful _soared._ He hesitated, captured by the sound, craning his neck around. Stalking slowly across the roof he focused in the direction of his own church, only a couple of streets away. The sound of many voices joined in unison, the midnight mass in full sway.

 _O Holy Night... the stars are brightly shining..._

Crouching alone at the edge of the roof he tried to block everything else out, just for this stolen moment. He lifted the mask free, running a gloved hand distractedly through his hair, following the harmony of voices as they weaved subtly around each other.

Dipping his head in reverence he counted possibly twenty people, some nervous, some tired, one wheezing a little with a chest cold. All must have been on some kind of high step or stage, performing proudly before the congregation. Their heart rates were raised just slightly with either anxiety or excitement.

 _Long lay the world... in sin and error pining..._

His thoughts turned to Foggy and the Nelson clan. How they might be spending Christmas together. Probably bursting into song right now in their own raucous way. He remembered the first time he'd been dragged along, years ago now, back at college. Foggy had insisted, riding straight over any excuses Matt could think of not to intrude.

 _A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices..._

 _"C'mon man"_ he'd grinned _"either I'm staying here or you're coming with me. Trust me, there'll be plenty of food and booze, you'll enjoy it!"_

And he really had...

They'd been so loud, brash and completely welcoming, Mrs Nelson taking particular delight in whatever second helpings she could encourage Foggy's pale young room-mate to take. She'd impressed upon him a sincere standing welcome to come visit, _especially_ at Christmas, she couldn't abide the idea of him celebrating alone. _No-one should be alone over the season._

 _Fall on your knees..._

Matt's chest constricted as the voices lifted together in heartfelt crescendo, the harmony splitting apart and slowly resolving. He wondered how Foggy would field any questions about him this year? Would anyone ask?

 _Oh, hear the angel voices..._

Crashing through the song, loud and crude suddenly, a police siren sounded close by. It broke the spell of his reverie, bringing him harshly back to the cold rooftop patrol. Matt tilted his head aside, following the direction of the action as it raced past. Unseen around him brilliant red and blue flashes lit up the walls of the buildings below.

 _"Shots fired, I repeat shots fired..."_

 _O night divine..._

Clenching his jaw he slipped the mask down into place, turning his back on the beautiful harmony, letting the hymn subside into the background noise of the city. He switched his focus instead to the rapid speech of the responding officer at the wheel, hearing a phrase that made no sense whatsoever _"civilian down... devil worshipper."_

Running full-tilt across the rooftop, he snapped the billy-club apart, casting one end out to snag around the leg of a nearby water tower. Swinging out onto the next building he landed lightly, keeping his momentum going with a roll before lurching up and sprinting onwards. Matt grimaced, wondering _what the hell_ kind of new cult had taken root in the Kitchen.

The sirens died, tyres screeching to a halt as two cars converged at the mouth of an alleyway. Already the officers were warily investigating the scene. Matt crouched at the edge of the rooftop just above them, a silent spectator.

A copper tang of fresh blood saturated the air, pooling around a body that lay alone, already cooling in the chill night atmosphere. Breath and pulse had long faded to silence, he was _too late_ to save anyone here.

He shook his head with frustration, studying the alleyway for clues. There was a lingering odour of cologne, notes of amber and white musk. A ribbon of fumes trailed through the air from a cheap gas cigarette lighter. There had been only one gun fired, peppering the air with acrid smoke, fired more than once. Several men had been at the scene, footsteps dancing around each other, fighting hard before the gun had ended the confrontation. Specks of their sweat and blood were splashed across the walls and floor. The trail away from here was muddied, whoever had been here hadn't left on foot.

"Poor bastard, look at the state of him." Someone below gestured to the body, voice a low growl.

"Yeah well, only a matter of time wasn't it?" one of the other officers moved to stand beside him, peering down, hands on hips "All these vigilante Daredevil wannabes... sports gear ain't gonna stop a bullet... _Jesus..._ one was bound to eventually bite off more than he could chew eh? "

Matt rocked back on his heels, shaking his head infinitely slowly in growing horror.

"Where'd he even get those horns?" The officer sighed, turning on his heel, heading back to his car to tape off the area.

High above, Matt's heart-rate leapt as he mouthed a silent _"No!"_ He reeled with shock. Someone had _copied_ him, and it had cost them _their life_... He wanted to jump down, to act, to avenge and apologise. He gripped the roof ledge tight to steady himself. To resist the urge to leap. He wanted to scream, to tear the street apart for clues. Something. Anything. Any way to find out who did this.

Breathing fast he replayed the description he had heard earlier... _devil worshipper_. He winced at the unwelcome idea, that was the _last_ thing he wanted. He wanted to inspire, sure, but not that. _Not ever that._

He fought to calm his heartbeat, rising to pace silently along the edge of the roof, all attention fixed on scouring the street below.

 _There..._ back out on the main street, beyond the few pedestrians that were beginning to loiter, drawn by the free drama of a major crime scene, Matt could hear a female officer asking quiet questions to an inconsolable woman. There was a soft drape of fabric, a blanket being thrown around shivering shoulders. Safe in the back of the patrol car the officer was asking calmly what she saw, what happened, was she hurt in any way?

He clambered around the edge of a water tower, past the low hum of a lift engine control room, moving as close as possible to focus on the conversation. Willing the woman to have _something..._ Some scrap of information he could chase mercilessly through the night.

The victim was young, her voice breathless and wet, hot tears tracking steadily down each cheek. "Someone grabbed for my bag, no...I didn't see them clearly, I _screamed_ and before I knew it, that guy ran across the road. Scared me half to death in that outfit. He... He wrestled my bag back, chased off the thief... _But then.._."

She seemed to falter, the officer murmuring words of comfort, there was the rough sigh of her shoulder being squeezed encouragingly through the woollen blanket.

"Then some _other_ guys started a fight with him, pushed him into the alley." Her voice fell to a hush, just a whisper "a car pulled up... Two guys got out... That's when I... I heard the shots... _He's... He's dead isn't he?_ "

Her heartbeat although stressed, had the steadiness of truth about it. Matt grimaced, listening to the officer gently push for a description.

"I didn't get a good look, _I'm sorry..._ They were tall, dark hair, one skinny, curly hair, down to about here?... The other... broad, big type... _you know?_. The car was dark... Silver maybe... _I'm so... so sorry..._ "

He could hear the breath catch in her throat, tears rolling freely, her hands pressing hard over her eyes. "I heard one them laugh... _he laughed..._ as they got back into the car..."

Matt paced back to the edge of the roof as the patrol car eventually pulled away, dipping his head as a cold fury coursed through him.

There was hardly _anything_ to go on... Nothing decent... _Not yet..._

Just on the edge of his senses, something _else_ scratched for attention. He snapped his head around angrily, testing the air, searching the other rooftops... _something or someone?_...

 _No... nothing... all was quiet._

Whatever it was... had _gone._


	6. All rise

_A/N Thanks for all the kind feedback so far, it's like cheering on a marathon runner who's struggling up a steep bit of road. It really inspires and keeps me going! Let's crack on eh? ;)_

* * *

.

.

.

When Karen lazily flicked on the morning news, she gasped. A rapid intake of breath that dragged her blurry attention into sharp focus. A trembling hand flew to cover her mouth, her eyes fixed wide on the screen.

 _no..._

Overnight, the unthinkable had happened, the news cast flashing up the highlights in a repeated cycle, the scrolling ticker-tape offering only a blunt summary: _Hell's Kitchen Devil arrested._.. The four simple words knocking every scrap of breath from her lungs.

 _n-no..._

Reeling she crouched in the pale fluorescent light of the screen. Rocking back on her heels she fumbled for the remote, her fingers numb as they stabbed at the volume controls.

Only fragments of the story were starting to filter through, piece by piece, frustratingly few in number. Hints of a night of unexpected violence, a trail of destruction, the police finally cornering him, guns drawn. The excited news anchor seemed to relish the details, his voice dripping with gravitas and urgency that grated on Karen's nerves immediately.

A shaky camera showed the moment he had been brought down. After a tense stand-off just before dawn, he'd capitulated quietly, calmly kneeling in some decrepit alley, under the spotlights, the dark clad police swarming over and around him. Vivid colour blazed constantly across the screen, testament to the amount of police cars called to the scene. She leant forward to scrutinise the handheld footage. The way he held himself, the way his head remained dipped down, the sense of finality and defeat rolled from him. What the hell had happened to make him so reckless?

She grimaced, watching the footage loop over and over, one pale slender hand pressed flat to the screen. _Dammit Matt... no..._

 _Something major_ had tipped him over the edge... Just how _intense_ would the fall now be?

Apparently he'd said nothing as the mask had been ripped away. The cops pulling him around roughly to exclamations of _surprise._ They all wanted to see if it was true, jostling to see the face of the Devil. _"What the hell?... Hey, you've seen what he can do!... No way that guy's blind... gotta be faking!..."_ He didn't resist at all as both arms were pinned firmly behind his back, the handcuffs snapped tight around each wrist.

His blank gaze had remained fixed to the floor, silent as they hauled him into the back of the waiting armoured transport. Sirens blaring out through the chill December dawn, the van surrounded by a growing fleet of patrol cars.

 _No way_ this one was escaping...

This guy had been running around like a law unto himself, _assaulting_ people, causing _actual physical harm_. He had been captured, on video, flipping around, kicking the hell out of a group of cops as well. _That_ shocking footage had been flashed out all over the news months ago for everyone to see. Whether those cops had deserved it, if they were crooked or not, it was still a fact some people had _never_ forgotten and certainly not forgiven.

This was a guy who didn't respect the uniform, who didn't respect the law.

He had a lot to answer for...

.

Foggy and Karen waited anxiously in the courtroom. The only ones willing and able to scramble together a legal defence under such short notice. Both were exhausted, tempers strained, nerves frayed as the guards threw the doors open, bringing the _accused_ through into the courtroom.

She winced to see Matt like this, wearing an orange jumpsuit, quietly guided along, a guard at either elbow. He shuffled slowly, a chain hanging from his wrists, looping awkwardly down between his ankles, making walking difficult. A subtle clink-rattle sounding with each limited step. Bound up just like Frank had been. A different vigilante on trial here, but the same public circus baying for blood all around him.

 _They've all seen his face..._ A chill of realisation shivered through Karen, suddenly acutely aware that every head in the packed courtroom had turned to follow his slow progress, _everyone knows... That's it... everyone knows and nothing will ever be the same for Matt now._ She struggled to suppress the panic gathering in a tight knot in her lungs with each breath. _Even if he's acquitted, the accusations will shadow over him forever._

Her desire to protect him from the intense scrutiny was undeniable. It outweighed any lingering resentment she might have felt for his past deceit, the glare of the moment just too harsh.

She'd have to share this knowledge... this secret... _share him..._ with the world now. How could she ever protect him from that?

He looked strangely young and vulnerable without his glasses and cane, taking his direction from the guards, relying on their guidance to find the desk. _Was he playing the courtroom already, vying for sympathy?_ A trace of doubt seared through Karen's train of thought. Quickly squashed. _No... not his style, each hesitant step is real._ He brushed one bound hand gently along the surface of the defendant's table to orient himself, not lifting his head to either Karen or Foggy as he passed by. Settling into the seat next to them like a statue, as if totally numb to his surroundings. A quiet spectre, resigned to his fate.

The courtroom was packed to capacity, meanwhile outside a growing mass of people spilled across the broad stone steps. Some with placards, some with effigies. A battalion of news cameras and reporters ranked in a long jostling line to the front of the crowd.

The press had been relentless, focused, cranking out articles since the arrest, whetting the appetite of the public, winding them up into a feeding frenzy of interest. Journalists had circled like vultures, clamouring for photos, chasing any scrap of information, digging into his past, into those lonely years at the orphanage, the gruesome details of the accident that 'blinded' him, the salacious criminal undertones to the death of his Father. Splashing it all out there to be dissected, to _entertain_. It was a gift of a story, one that just _kept on_ giving and the public were lapping it up. Hungry for all the gritty details. They were either glamorising or gleefully ripping his character apart, crucifying him in the media.

Sat at the desk beside her, Karen could feel Foggy tense, shifting in his seat. The incredible strain clear on his pinched features, told by the dark rings under his eyes. His best friends future, perhaps even life, now in his hands. _If Matt went to jail, it would kill him. He'd put too many people away to ever be safe._ He kept glancing over to Matt, who seemed unable to respond. An unreadable stillness hanging over him. Maybe he was simply shutting everything out, the scrutiny and sensory overload too intense from the crowds in and outside the courtroom.

She couldn't bear to see Matt so closed off, so vulnerable. The calm silent centre of a media storm that would tear him to shreds.

 _"All rise."_

The tight knot in Karen's lungs constricted, like a hand squeezing tight around her chest.

She looked around in growing panic, unable to bring herself to stand beside the others. Both Foggy and Matt seeming to drift away from her, out of reach, not looking back.

Her vision began to tunnel down to black she realised she couldn't stand..

 _She couldn't stand this!_

 _She couldn't..._

.

.

.

 _"NO!"_

 _._

 _._

 _._

The gasp that ripped down her throat was wild and desperate. It took her several disoriented breaths to calm down, to steady her heart rate into something approaching a regular rhythm.

Slowly she began to comprehend the space around her, the familiar walls of her room in the half-light, the quiet of a pre-dawn hush, the fact that she was in her own bed, safe, a soft blanket tangled tight around her legs. The understanding slowly coalescing that it had just been a nightmare.

 _s'okay... Matt's okay..._

She rubbed at her eyes wearily.

 _isn't he?..._

Lifting her head slightly she winced, a headache tightening round her temple like a band of hot iron. Rolling onto her side she caught a glimpse of the scotch bottle she'd received as a gift from her new boss, Ellison. Curls of shiny festive ribbon still trailing limp from the neck, a third of the contents gone already.

Foggy had been so reassuring at the bar last night, walking her home afterwards, crushing her with a hug of genuine affection and concern as they had said good night. But as he turned away, it had been like the sun disappearing over the horizon, a warmth lost. A weight had settled over her shoulders instead, worry pushing her down with every step that she climbed up to her apartment, making her curl around the bottle in quiet contemplation, unable to sleep as her mind raced.

 _It would have been so easy to bury herself in that bottle of scotch last night._

Pulling the blanket up over her head she swore, words scarcely above a whisper.

She didn't want to leave the bed yet, to have to deal with reality. The cocoon of the blanket felt wonderful, a warm haven in a cold apartment.

 _How did Foggy put up with this? Is this how he slept? Fractured portents and fears every damn night?_

She huffed a low growl, angry at her over-active imagination, angry at the situation, angry at _Matt_ for putting them through all this.

 _Bastard..._

 _ugh..._

As she swung her legs out over the edge of the bed a wave of nausea rolled slowly through her. Hissing a low sigh she held her head tentatively as the room danced rudely around, spinning on it's axis slightly as she shifted to sit upright. Letting the blanket fall away, the chill of the room cut through her hangover, a sharp unwelcome slap to the senses.

Karen lifted her head, regarding the scotch bottle, tempted to just lean over and reach for it, for the oblivion it offered, but she pulled back, eyes narrowing in determination, heaving herself upright to shuffle over to the shower instead.

.

.

Mitchell Ellison looked up, peering over the top of his glasses as Karen rested against the door to his office. Two cups of fresh aromatic coffee balanced in her grip.

"Hey Boss" her voice sounded fragile, huskily low. He squinted to her pale complexion, the the hint of shadows circling beneath her eyes. "Rough night?" his voice was gentle but curious, he leant back, tilting his head to one side, noting her faint shrug in response, knowing not to push too hard even though the answer was written clear for him to see. _Is there nowhere else for you to be today?_ But he couldn't bring himself to say the words aloud, after all he was here too wasn't he? _Christmas in the office... Jesus... what a job..._

"Take a seat" he gestured to the chair facing his own cluttered desk, "I've got something I want you to look into."

Karen settled into the battered seat with a suppressed yawn, flashing a small grateful smile, pushing one of the coffees across the desk toward him, the hour excruciatingly early, the offices of the New York Bulletin mostly deserted.

"Nice work on your last piece" He nodded in thanks for the proffered drink "I want you to continue in that theme, I think it will generate a good amount of interest."

Karen perked up, glad for a new potential focus.

Ellison, sipped the coffee appreciatively, "One thing that's clear, is that vigilante stories sell like you wouldn't fucking believe, great for circulation." He cradled the drink between his hands "so I want to know where you're going to go with it next for me?"

Karen blinked, colour draining from her face slightly as she studiously gulped back a scalding mouthful of caffeine. Hiding her lurch of panic behind a wince from the hangover.

 _Get a grip..._

Her boss arched a brow, unaware of the fragments of dreams cascading vividly through her thoughts. _The trial, the press, the hounding attention, the unbearable pressure of a public revelation, how it would shatter Matt and cripple Foggy._

 _Say something..._

Ellison looked back to his coffee, swirling the paper cup around. "It's a story that repeatedly spikes readership, so I want someone on it properly, digging far into it, think you can handle that? There was an incident last night, something you can start with?"

She replayed his words over... _someone on it... someone..._ knowing with a sinking certainty that she'd _have_ to accept. If anyone _else_ were to investigate, to really study the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, how dangerous would that be? _What_ would be uncovered?

Karen took another sip, playing for time, pulling her jumbled thoughts together. She would never twist that knife... would she? _No..._ She couldn't conceive of ever actually revealing the secret, not when she still had the nightmare scenes fresh in her mind.

The only play here that she could see was damage limitation.

 _Fucking hell Matt... How long before Ellison thinks I'm incompetent? I'll be lucky to hang onto this job._

Karen breathed out slowly, anger rising in her again, lifting a hand to rub at her temple, to ease the echoes of the headache away, forcing herself to finally lift her chin and meet his eye. Absolutely sure. "I'll do it."

Ellison nodded, curtly, all business. "Great" he shuffled through a slew of printouts on his desk, selecting one and handing it over to Karen "Here.. a wannabe vigilante was murdered last night."

He spoke the words so matter of factly, blunt as ever, attributing the sudden tremor in Karen's hand as she took the report from him to the evident hangover.

Her heart lurched into her throat, all anger swept aside, struggling to keep up with the emotional roller-coaster she had never chosen to ride. For a split second she felt a swell of relief that it hadn't been Matt, then immediately swamped by a surge of guilt for even thinking that. She'd have to speak to Foggy, the story would unsettle him deeply.

With a vague nod she rose from the chair, making her excuses to leave the office, Ellison watching her curiously all the way.

.

.

.

* * *

 _A/N: I went there... oh lord I went there... please forgive me for the nightmare sequences but I couldn't shake the images out of my head. If anyone was going to have those vivid dreams, hey.. I thought it just -had- to be Karen! She has some heavy -stuff- to deal with! ;) Thanks for the feedback on the previous chapter too btw, I did worry a little how a chapter on OC's would go down, so thank you for the responses! whew!_

 _Onwards and upwards from here we go... or downwards... depending on which character you are! ;D_


	7. Cold candlelight

_A/N: thank you for all the feedback and support so far as we edge ever closer to the action, I'm extremely grateful and you guys are awesome! :)_

* * *

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Matt rolled onto his back with a soft huff of weariness, the leather couch creaking in sympathy with the movement, he blinked slowly, shaking off the remnants of the dream.

 _He'd been running hard, feet pounding, desperate to shove the man out of the way, acting on instinct to push him to safety. The old guy hadn't even seen the truck beginning to tilt, the barrels heaving loose, breaking free as their restraints snapped. Time slowed, there was a terrifying uncontrolled screech of tyres, a heavy smash of crumpled metal and bursting drums, a glutinous splash of pale oily liquid that sprayed out everywhere. Stinging, white hot agony... Everything this poison touched, it burned... God how it burned..._

He lifted a hand to rub at his eyes, suppressing the desire to shudder at the distant memory.

 _A brilliant blue sky hung in the distance, a perfect deep shade, visible all around his Father like a halo. It loomed, as if it too were leaning in to study him in that moment. He was just a boy, flat on his back, pinned to the ground beneath it's vast azure gaze. His Father... His Father was there, kneeling at his side, fear and realisation now flashing across those broad tough features, the warm blue sky in the distance warping around his silhouette, fraying at the edges, bubbling and disintegrating into darkness... his Father's voice, fractured by panic, the only soundtrack now as every light blistered, dimmed and then flickered out..._

Broad tyres rumbled over tarmac nearby, disrupting his thoughts. Heels clicked sharply along the pavement, conversations stirred and bled into each other over the constant thrum of heartbeats. Life carried on... people swarmed by, wrapped up in their own lives, aware of so little... the streets outside were busy. A constellation of distractions, but he turned aside from it all, focusing instead on his immediate surroundings.

Matt pushed aching fingers up through his dark messy hair, rolling his head distractedly to the side against the armrest, studying the detail of the world around him. It was early afternoon in Hell's Kitchen, he knew he couldn't have slept more than a few hours. His knuckles felt bruised, memento of a hard night on patrol. Looking for answers, for clues, for _something_ to focus on. The armoured suit was scattered across the floor, peeled off in a fumbling blur of fatigue when he'd returned from his futile hunt in the early hours of the morning.

His stomach twisted when he remembered the alley, the dead vigilante dressed like a devil.

 _No-one knew... no-one seemed to have any clue yet who'd done it._

Forcing himself upright with a yawn, he pushed reluctantly up off the sofa, letting his blanket fall away to the side, a scrape of soft wool over sensitive skin. Dressed only in his boxers, bare feet padding across the breathtakingly cold floor, he shuffled towards the kitchen. He needed caffeine, food, _fuel_ to keep going.

The fridge hummed with a rasping buzz as he pulled the door open, a waft of chill air spilling over his bare skin, nothing but cartons and bottles clinked together in the half empty compartment. With an uninspired grunt he let the heavy door swing shut again, turning instead to the sink.

His hand rested on the tap as cold water rushed to fill the kettle. Head dipped in silence as he remembered standing here before, all too recently. A stark memory of Stick rattling off part of his urgent ad-hoc list, the rescue remedy for the Hand's poison that had been racing with deadly efficiency through Elektra's veins.

 _"...I need pliers and hot tea."_

Now _there_ was a man who could probably survive purely on tea and dry insults.

He'd idolised the mysterious tutor as a boy, had his heart and hopes broken when their association had abruptly ended, come to scorn him as a teenager, and eventually as an adult he'd simply let him go, re-evaluated and moved on.

At the beginning he'd carried on training himself as best he could, wondering if maybe it was some twisted kind of _test?_ Stick intending to return weeks or months after leaving, judging his resourcefulness, full of his usual snark and venom to see what the boy had learned. How he'd grown and adapted, if he could _cope_. And Matt had _wanted_ to prove himself, so he'd really tried. Holding it together, withdrawing even further from others in the orphanage and learning to hide his powers of perception. But the weeks and months just rolled by with no sign and incrementally he'd felt the loss of a father figure all over again, a slow burn of realisation that he was alone. That it was better to just not open himself up to that kind of grief again.

He should have _known_ the moment Stick's fist had closed, crunching with finality around the delicately plaited paper bracelet he'd made for him. But he was a child then, he'd trusted... he'd hoped...

So he'd forged on alone, always studying like he promised his Father, or training to spite Stick, eventually pushing past those regrets and emotions to work hard just for _himself_. To master his _own_ abilities, to wrest some control from fate. There was simply no one else in his life, no-one who knew what he could _really_ do, so he clung to the training, to the meditation, to the focus it gave him.

No-one had really gotten close to him again until Columbia, he hadn't allowed it, hadn't dared it, not until Foggy had blasted into his life. Even then he'd been unable to tell Foggy the _whole_ truth for fear of losing him too.

Matt paced back to the sofa as the kettle boiled, shrugging an old hoodie over his head, fiddling with the frayed sleeve distractedly.

Foggy and Claire had stumbled across the truth by accident, unplanned for but manageable. Surprisingly supportive in their own ways. He'd chosen to tell Karen, in the hope of making her realise what danger she might be in by association. But Elektra... Elektra had _known_ , like the kindred spirit she was.

Cradling the mug of coffee close to his chest, he leant against the doorway leading to the bedroom, remembering her stretched out across his bed. Slender frame swamped by one of his shirts, lying still, each movement an agony as the long wound across her waist slowly healed.

Matt paused briefly to shake his head, _no... no she'd been told, forewarned._ Elektra was on a mission from the very first moment they'd met. He was a mark, a set-up, Stick directing her moves even back then. The sly old bastard looking for a path back into his life, to drag him as a recruit into his secret war...

He muttered a low thoughtful " _hmph",_ taking a sip of the hot bitter brew.

Just how many times had he fought with Stick since he'd resurfaced? Wrecking the apartment in the process. A predictably tenacious man, fixed purely on his mission, never any hint of compassion or patience. Spouting his mystical bullshit with an attitude always so abrasive and cutting. But, the old warrior _had_ redeemed himself, that was undeniable, saving Elektra from the poison rushing through her veins that night when it mattered most. Matt could have _sworn_ he sensed more than a trace of worry, _actual genuine fear_ in the timbre of his voice, a gallop within that withered heart when he had barked all those orders.

" _I'm not gonna lie to you... This is bad."_

They'd saved her that night, waiting anxiously together in the apartment as she pulled through. A common cause they both absolutely rooted for.

But since her funeral.. no, even _before_ that... since Matt had intervened and saved Stick's life, there had been a tentative peace growing between them. A genuine shift in their friendship... _though it could hardly really be called that._ He knew the open unspoken invitation was there, to join the Chaste, to join the crusade against the Hand if he ever decided to leave Hell's Kitchen behind.

If he were ever to leave the Kitchen though, it would have been on that rooftop, with _her_ , such was the power she had to still spin his world around... Stick and his crusade paled in comparison.

Matt sipped his coffee, still propped against the wall, regarding the empty bed. Sleep had proved elusive there, ever since the rooftop battle. He had found plenty of reasons to drop with exhaustion onto the sturdy old couch instead.

Elektra had decimated his final year at Columbia... Spinning him around so completely that he almost dropped out. She was a ruthless, fiery, strong willed menace. There was a visceral elation in orbiting her company. So damn maddeningly unpredictable and utterly confident. Addictive and mesmerising, it was incredible to him that all of that, that _she,_ was gone.

He couldn't help it, he couldn't _help_ but linger over their last conversation, because of everyone in his life, she had _known_ him. All sides of him. _"...this is a part of me that I need and you're the only one who gets it."_

The only one, ever.

She had been shivering, a rare tremor of fear running through her, heart rate elevated with dread and anticipation. Crouched beside the doorway that would lead to the rooftop, to their only chance for escape.

 _"Without this, I'm not alive... Not really..."_ It was the truth, spoken as he'd knelt beside her, mask in hand, wanting to seize the moment. To speak openly, things he should have realised and said long before, and once he'd started, the earnest heartfelt words tumbled out so easily. If they were about to die then what did he possibly have to lose? _"...I know that now, thanks to you." He'd_ wanted nothing more than to protect her, to escape with her and just keep on running if that's what she needed to do. Black Sky be damned. He had meant every single word.

Matt shook his head ruefully. _Why_ hadn't he just kissed her in that moment?...

He drained the cup, knocking the dregs back. Turning his thoughts forcefully aside. Grimacing as he straightened away from the doorway, running a hand over the rough stubble on his chin as he wandered back to the kitchen. He needed to get out, to keep moving, to stay busy. Anything to keep his mind occupied and distracted away from drowning in such regrets.

He needed to find the killers of the vigilante for a start. Now _that_ was something he could throw himself into, focusing on it completely.

 _Foggy... Foggy... Foggy..._

Matt whirled around, staring blankly in the direction of the phone. The ringtone jarringly loud and unexpected. He strode over to where it had been tossed aside on the table hours earlier, hesitating to pick it up. His heart stuttering slightly in surprise.

 _Foggy... Foggy... Foggy..._

He flexed his hand, hovering it over the phone with uncertainty.

 _Foggy... Foggy... Foggy..._

But... he wouldn't be calling if it wasn't important? _Would he?_ They hadn't spoken really for some time now, not since their practice had fallen apart so spectacularly.

He scooped up the phone, thumbing the answer key and lifting the device to his ear, suppressing the nervous edge to his voice as he forced a casual "Hey..."

"Matt? _Jesus_ man... you've _got_ to pick up the phone faster than that!"

Sinking down onto the armrest of the couch, Matt furrowed his brow at the sudden sharp scolding tone in Foggy's voice. But in a profoundly resonant way he was pleased to hear from him, whatever the reason for the call. He hesitated, letting it slide "Uh... you okay?"

"Yeah.. I just... I saw the _news_ and I wanted to check."

Matt rubbed a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose in momentary confusion "the news?"

Foggy seemed to pause, collecting his thoughts together, drawing a breath to steady himself before reaching more carefully for his next words "yeah... there was a body... found last night... a guy dressed up like-"

" _Ah_ " Matt cut across him, more sharply than he intended. "Yeah, I know about it... no... I'm fine... I'm fine... thanks..." Suddenly he didn't want to discuss it, wanting to steer the conversion away onto safer ground.

"...Right." There was a finality to the inflection of Foggy's voice. Frustration surging to the fore again. He had needed to hear Matt's voice to make sure he was okay, his first thought on seeing the news had been about him. A flash of panic, but now he wasn't sure what to say.

There was an awkwardness to the brief silence that followed.

Matt found himself floundering to fill the void "I'll be looking into it... was there... was there anything else?" he dipped his head, phone still pressed to his ear. Wanting to suddenly cut the call off, not sure how to behave or respond, which was ridiculous. His friendship with Foggy had _always_ been so natural and easy. The hesitation now only showing up the depth of the rift between them and it was a heavy blow to realise how distant they had become.

There were a multitude of things being left unsaid, of course there were. But Matt could think of no way to breach the chasm.

Foggy sounded resigned, his voice falling flat as he muttered "What? Hm? Oh no.. I guess _not_... Look after yourself then huh?" before swiftly hanging up.

Matt remained motionless, sat awkwardly at the edge of the sofa for some time, regarding the silent phone cradled in his hand, fiddling with the edge of the hard plastic case as his jaw tightened.

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.

.

"Sir?" Yaroslav waited patiently at the doorway until beckoned to enter the office, the sleek black mobile in his broad hand a constant presence. His prime duty was to facilitate and smooth the path for his superior in any way required. Responsible for many subtle facets of this man's daily life, he was _much_ more than a simple bodyguard and he took rightful pride in his work. Lev was a rising star and his ascension through the Bratva would lift him, and the choice few who invested in him _now_ , along in his wake.

He had known the man's father, not as a friend, never anything so close as that. But had heard of course the stories about the elder _Gribkov_ , respected him from afar, admired the efficient brutal ruthlessness of the man and saw hints of the same promise in his quietly analytical son.

The grey haired man cocked his head to one side, nodding briefly. The scattered pale colouring aged him, but Yaroslav guessed the slight man had to be actually no more than mid-thirties at most.

Lev leant back in his leather chair, grey eyes regarding his trusted stout Lieutenant expectantly, an easy smile on his lips "So... what news is there so far?"

Yaroslav straightened from his short respectful bow "the Rafellis are causing a few ripples, but no direct result as of yet" a trace of contempt clear in his tone. He didn't trust them, regarding the rival gang with all the wary distaste he thought they deserved.

Lev leant forward, curious, knowing his blond haired Lieutenant was a clever man gifted with a rather simple outlook on life "You do not approve?" He had found him to be a straightforward and very useful man to have around so far.

His bodyguard frowned "Honestly Sir? I do not see the need for their... _involvement_. They are sloppy... opportunist, I believe they have killed already, completely missing their promised target." He glanced to the phone in his hand for a fraction of a second and Lev followed his gaze. "They are requesting assistance already." His voice twisted with a hint of derision.

"And what are they asking for?"

"They propose a four point plan of attack Sir, for us to scout the area around 51st, they'll take 6th, 28th and 40th. Any sighting to be reported and converged upon."

There was a thoughtful pause followed by the briefest of nods, enough for Yaroslav to understand the intent to comply.

Lev stretched comfortably back in his chair "ensure the men are reminded to remain... discreet yes?" he loosed a reassuring smile before leaning forward again over his massed paperwork. Sheaves of notes scattered around him, piled in a complex pattern across the broad map of Hell's Kitchen that took up the greater part of the broad exquisite mahogany desk. Intent on familiarising himself fully with every nuance of this _promising_ new territory.

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Matt pulled his coat close around his body with one gloved hand to ward off the bitter chill, tapping out each step with his cane in the other. He had felt drawn to visit this particular street all day. A cluster of people were already gathered ahead, at the mouth of the dark dilapidated alleyway.

Slowing to a stop he loitered a short distance away from them, already sensing the small mass of flickering heat sources nearby. The sun was just setting over Hell's Kitchen and the flames shone brilliantly in his perception against the cold squalid surroundings. A collection of candles and flowers, a modest offering near the spot the body was found.

His hands gripped painfully tight around the cane as he tilted his head in silence, guilt crashing over him in a wave as he heard the suppressed catch in someone's breath nearby, tears about to fall. Determination blistering through him in response.

He'd go out hunting again tonight, _he had to..._


End file.
